


Part of the Package

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sad, This will never happen now because Cloen, au i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Doctor, what will happen when I’m old?</i> Post-reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Package

The Doctor’s thumb moves in small circles over her knuckles. He doesn’t like to be separated from her now. Even for mundane tasks like repairing the TARDIS’s wiring.

She doesn’t mind. She watches him quietly, swinging her legs under the pilot’s chair. He works with one hand, pulling up every few moments to shoot her a warm smile.

That smile tells her he still doubts that she’s real.

“Doctor,” she starts, and her voice sounds hesitant. She’s been preparing herself for this question, but her skin still itches with nerves.

The Doctor’s grip on her hand tightens like he senses the change in her. “What is it?”

She tries again, sucking in a deep breath of air. “Doctor, what will happen when I’m old?”

The sonic screwdriver snaps off and she knows she’s dumped a bucket of cold water on him. There’s no one better at avoiding unpleasant issues than the Doctor, but she still remembers the anguished look in his eyes that day outside the chip shop. _You wither and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone you…_

She doesn’t want to hurt him that way, not if she can avoid it.

“I’ve been looking into residences. There’s some nice ones, yeah? Be a bit like living like royalty, getting waited on hand and foot.” Rose pauses, but there’s no response from him. He’s gone still, his thumb resting heavily on the back of her hand. “The thing is, though, I don’t exist in this world. It says I died that day at Canary Wharf. I won’t exactly qualify for the NHS now, will I?”

She should probably be frightened of being _this_ dependent on the Doctor. She’s got nothing. No money. No family. But she’s not. If there’s one thing she’s learned, there’s always a way to carry on.

The Doctor releases her hand and turns around, leaning back on the console. His voice is quiet when he says, “Rose, I’ll look after you.”

She tilts her head up to look at him. He’s very, very serious. She swallows. “But…”

“You can’t honestly think I’d just… just… drop you somewhere.” He scratches at the back of his neck, but then he stops and glares at her.

She’s unsettled by his anger and shifts on the seat. She can see it clearly—her, getting older. One day there will be a gray hair and then another and another. She’ll get wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her legs will stop running, her knees will give out. She’ll slow him down and he’ll be stuck with her, unable to do anything except watch it happen.

He’s speaking again. “I’m not ever going to be ready to let go of you, Rose. And I certainly won’t before I have to.”

She shivers at his words, and her fingers play with a loose thread on her jeans. “I know,” she says. “I thought I could… I wanted to make it easier for you.”

She raises her head to meet his eyes and his gaze burns her.

“Rose—” He moves from the console and takes a seat next to her. His voice softens. “Isn’t that what humans do? You get sick or you get injured or….”

 _You age and you die_ , Rose thinks bitterly, suddenly hating herself for her mortality. She hates the idea of her body failing her, of needing to rely on someone else to take care of her.

The Doctor skips around saying the words, but continues, “And you… you look after each other. It’s part of it. It’s—I know, it’s a packaged deal! You get Rose and that’s quite lovely, but you also have to sit for tea with Jackie and that— _that_ is terrifying.”

Rose bites her lip, but can’t hold back a smile. She reaches for his hand, breathing a sigh of relief when his fingers link with hers and hold on tightly. “And,” she says, catching on to his analogy. “Part of the package is getting older?”

“Yep.” Then he grins. “Might as well do it on the TARDIS. Good as place as any. Better than some.”

“It’s where you are,” Rose says. She’s beginning to get choked up. It’s times like this that she wants to throw her arms around him and never let go. She wants to let the rest of the universe go on without them because whatever time they have of her life together will never, ever be enough.

His smile slips. “Yeah,” he says thickly.

His free hand skims her cheek, fingers brushing idly against her lips before he pulls away. She moves to mimic her touch, letting her fingers skim along his cheek before she leans in closer. His arms go around her without pause, his cheek coming down to press against the top of her head. She almost can’t breathe, but then he relaxes his hold and she sighs.

She almost wishes she hadn’t brought it up. She knows he’s seeing it now, just like she was. The path of time, headed towards gray hairs and wrinkles, of withering and death.

She breathes in through her nose and then exhales. It’s better, though. She knows that he didn’t do well in her absence. She can feel it in every touch, every time his eyes look a little bit haunted when he reaches for her hand and doesn’t grasp it right away.

She tilts her head so she can press her lips to his jaw. One of her hands curls at the back of his neck. He makes a noise that might be a contented rumble and she feels some of the tension melt out of his shoulders.

It seems safe to change the subject. “So,” she says, “where we off to next?”

If her voice sounds too bright, he pretends not to notice.

“Ooh, Venice? During the Renaissance? Leonardo da Vinci, now there was a nice fellow. Bit eccentric, mind you. Quite fascinated by pigeons.”

Rose smiles at the familiar excitement building in the Doctor’s voice. Slowly, they disentangle. Slowly, the Doctor returns to the console.

The image of her aging, of death, falls to the back of their minds. It will stay there, but it’s resolved, for now.

He plots their course on the console. One hand reaches behind him and she reaches for it. His thumb goes back to tracing lazy patterns over her knuckles.


End file.
